


Treats

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:34:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21842260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: Treats come in more than one form. Written for WAdvent Open Posting Day #3 on Watson's Woes.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16
Collections: Watson's Woes WAdvent 2019





	Treats

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Very little plot. Random character study. And written in a huge rush. You have been warned.
> 
> The prompt for the day was "Treats".

“Stop right there, young man.”

I froze with one foot over the threshold. I knew that voice. All of us Irregulars did. And nobody ever disobeyed Mrs Hudson, or even gave her any lip. Not even Mr Holmes disobeyed Mrs Hudson when she gave an order like that.

I turned to face the music like a man. “Yes ma’am?”

She has a kindly face, Mrs Hudson, and a stern one too. Just then she looked a mix of both, and curious besides. “You’re the boy who came home with Doctor Watson last week, aren’t you?”

She wasn’t right, but she weren’t wrong, neither. I’d helped Doctor Watson home a few days ago. I’d been out running an errand for Wiggins when I’d come across the Doctor limping down the street, hobbling much worse than usual. I’m no doctor, but his ankle looked wrong. Making matters worse, he’d no walking-stick, though he usually carried one. He weren’t making much progress without one, even with bracing one hand against any convenient wall. It was easy enough to slip under his hand and let him use my shoulder as a support for the rest of the way to Baker Street. I knew Wiggins wouldn’t mind, and I’d get a copper or two for it from the doctor himself.

Truth is I’d’ve done it even without the brass. He’s a good sort, is Doctor Watson, and the whole lot of us Irregulars watch out for him. No other gang in London can say they’ve got a doctor to help them when doctoring is needed, I’m sure. But he’s got friends in all sorts of places, he does, some he probably don’t even know about. Not that I’d say so to Mrs. Hudson. Simple answers were best with her. “Yes ma’am.”

“I thought so. Follow me, young fellow.” She turned and started walking towards the back of the house.

I almost bolted out the front door. I didn’t know what she might want. But it was Mrs Hudson, and I’d never heard anyone say a bad word about her, so I closed the front door instead and followed her like she said.

The kitchen at Baker Street was rather dark, and not all that big, but it smelled like heaven. Mrs Hudson made me sit down at the kitchen table and fed me a big bowl of the soup she had on the stove. She didn’t say why, and I didn’t ask, just laid out my pleases and thank yous and filled my empty belly as quick as I could without getting sick. All the same, I kept an eye on Mrs Hudson as she moved around the kitchen. She didn’t seem like she was paying me much mind, but I wasn’t fooled.

She laid out a bit of newspaper and pulled out a tin. I recognized what was in it from talk I’d heard from Wiggins and some others. Biscuits – ginger ones, I could smell ‘em, sprinkled with real sugar that gleamed like jewels in the low light. She placed half-a-dozen of them on the newspaper and then wrapped it all up, neat as you please. She glanced at me again, then tied it all in place with a lovely bit of ribbon she pulled out from one of her pockets. Such a pretty ribbon, all blue and shining. My fingers itched to touch it, even more than my mouth watered for the biscuits.

“I’ll give you two biscuits once you’ve finished with your soup, and you can take these wrapped ones off with you when you go.”

“Cor,” I breathed, not believing my luck. “Thank you.”

Mrs Hudson smiled, but there must’ve been a trick of the gaslight, because it almost looked sad for a second. “You’re welcome, young one. Now finish eating. I’ve tea to serve in half an hour, and I’ll need that table to get ready for it.”

It was only later, on my way home with my precious packet in one pocket and my lovely new ribbon nestled around my fingers in the other, that I stopped to wonder why Mrs Hudson might have made the gift of a ribbon to a street urchin along with all the rest.

My steps faltered, and then I shrugged. I was sure she had her reasons. And I was just as sure that she’d never tell, not even to Mr Holmes.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted December 17, 2019.


End file.
